


Toss A Coin To Your Fake Fiancé

by Enigmaticpangolin, laydeemayhem, ramsay_baggins, SeaOfBones



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Candy liqueur, Free Drinks, Gilt leather throne, I wish I was a hot witcher with flowers in my hair, Jaskier's nemesis, M/M, Margarita slush, Monster alpaca, Monster gnomes, One hairy leg, Roach is lonely, So Much Gin, Undermining the profession, Wedding Fayre, Wedding Planning, Wedding fair, Weeping bride, You can both wear kilts, You're not marrying Roach, fake engagement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigmaticpangolin/pseuds/Enigmaticpangolin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laydeemayhem/pseuds/laydeemayhem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramsay_baggins/pseuds/ramsay_baggins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaOfBones/pseuds/SeaOfBones
Summary: Geralt, Jaskier and Yennefer attend a wedding fair. In order to win some goodies an engagement is formed which becomes increasingly more comfortable as the day goes on."And that’s because you’re happy with 'Fine. It fits, I suppose'.” Yennefer turned back to Jaskier. “Is this what you want, Jaskier? To lookokayon your wedding day? To wear a dress you can barely walk in, in a lace that doesn’t suit you, with sleeves too narrow for your shoulders?"Jaskier pressed his lips together, having been caught in mid-adjustment of a slipping sleeve. Yennefer held out her empty glass as the beleaguered sales assistant passed, commanding another top-up.“Then you’d better listen to me, Jaskier,” she said, violet eyes blazing with purpose. “Because we are not stopping at fine, Jaskier. We are stopping at perfect. We are stopping ateverything.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 92





	1. In Which Yennefer, Geralt and Jaskier Arrive At The Wedding Fair

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative fic which was born at a wedding fair. The author name will appear in the notes for each chapter. Some chapters end with a quick bit about a venue, these were mostly written by laydeemayhem.
> 
> Chapter one by SeaOfBones.

“Remind me why we’ve come here again,” Geralt sighed. The wedding fair was busier than he liked, bustling stalls bedecked with white garlands and false cheer. 

"Because someone gave me tickets to this as payment for services rendered," Yennefer replied. "And I'm not going to be able to get thirty ducats worth of free samples by myself."

Jaskier grinned as he peered around the room, which was usually a bad sign. Geralt grimaced.

"There's an open bar," Yennefer assured him.

"...Where?" Geralt asked.

Yennefer's mouth tightened as she cast her eyes across the maze of kiosks. "...Somewhere."

“I think we should... look around first,” Jaskier said carefully, trying to seem less excited than Geralt could clearly see that he was. “I’m sure they have… other free things.”

Geralt snorted. "I thought you'd be more _jaded_ about weddings, all things considered. How many marriages have you ruined, Jaskier?"

Jaskier crossed his arms defensively. "Well, that's a _marriage_ , not a wedding."

"I've ruined a couple of weddings, actually," Yennefer noted, sounding oddly pleased.

"Now, I have played at a lot of awful weddings," Jaskier conceded. "But the romance, Geralt. The drama, the stories. And it would be different if it was mine, anyway."

"I think that stall is giving away tiny bottles of prosecco," Yennefer said, pointing.

“…Fine,” Geralt replied. "We'll look around."

Jaskier’s expression brightened immediately, and he playfully grabbed at Geralt’s wrist.

“Well, come on then,” he said, smiling broadly.

Yennefer snorted, but Geralt could tell there was some mild affection behind the roll of her eyes. He took a reluctant step forward, and let himself be led towards the wine.

_=_

_“So, have you decided on a venue yet?” a cheery woman asked._

_Jaskier could feel Geralt’s grimace curdling the air behind him as he plucked a brochure from the stall._

_“I’m not getting married,” Geralt replied._

_Wide green gardens, rooms for the couple and their guests in the royal wing… and no in-house band. Jaskier smiled as he pocketed the brochure. Sure, he hadn’t paid to be here like the musicians he had so far managed to steer Geralt and Yennefer away from, but perhaps he’d be able to pick up some work while he was here._

_“This isn’t going to work,” Yennefer said, her fingers grasping Jaskier’s upper arm. “They… don’t have my date.”_

_Jaskier and Geralt glanced at Yennefer as she steered them both away._

_“What was that about?” Geralt asked._

_Yennefer pursed her lips. “Listen, you know I don’t normally sell poisons.”_

_“I don’t think that’s true,” Jaskier replied._

_“But, well, let’s just say I needed the money and that I wouldn’t recommend drinking anything made at the castle vineyard and leave it at that, shall we?”_


	2. In Which Geralt Is Shaved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By ramsay_baggins

As they stood trying to decide where to go next a woman approached them with a strange oval shaped disc in her hand.

“Hello,” she beamed, “Which one of you is the bride?”

Immediately Jaskier and Yennefer pointed at Geralt; before he could even react the woman had grabbed his hand.

“Oh wow, just look at you!” She felt the calluses on his hands. “It feels like you do a lot of manual labour, I bet you could do with a handy hair removal gadget so you don’t have to spend time in the morning on shaving.”

Geralt blinked as he was led to the stall and placed in a chair. The woman held the oval up to his face and started rubbing it against his skin in a circular motion.

“This removes hair without having to shave or wax! It uses ground up crystals to gently exfoliate the skin and remove hair as you go! Easy and pain free, no nicks to worry about on the big day!”

She was obnoxiously cheery and Geralt could hear Jaskier and Yen stifling giggles. He growled.

Yen piped up, “He wouldn’t tell you this because he’s embarrassed (toxic masculinity is so awful) but he usually shaves his legs. He hasn’t had a chance to do it for a while because work has been so busy and he keeps whining about how it’s going to be a big job to get it back under control. Do you think your gadget could help with that?”

Geralt shot Yen a glare of daggers.

“Of course!” the woman grinned, promptly pulling the leg of Geralt’s trouser up and starting to exfoliate the hairs away.

After a few minutes that leg was done.

“The other one?” the lady asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Geralt said as he seized the opportunity to stand up. “I don’t think I’ll need one of your gadgets.”

“Oh,” the woman said, without much time to react as Geralt strode off. The others followed him. Jaskier ran a hand across Geralt’s cheek.

“Smooth as a baby’s bottom!... Wait, you have one smooth leg and one hairy leg now, right?”

Geralt growled, “I need a drink.”


	3. In Which Geralt Discusses The Love Of His Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By EnigmaticPangolin

Geralt and Jaskier strolled down the row of stalls, Geralt trying to find the bar, Jaskier eagerly collecting flyers from vendors. A woman in a brightly coloured polo shirt bounded out at them from a very large kiosk lined with padded chairs. 

"Hello! Are you the groom?" The woman asked Geralt brightly.

"Why does everyone assume I'm the one getting married?" 

"Yes, he is," trilled Jaskier.

"Would you like a massage? Just takes ten minutes and smooths away all that wedding planning stress."

"Oh, he absolutely does," said Jaskier, pushing Geralt towards the massage chair with all his might. The pressure made no discernible difference to Geralt's posture, but the pretty massage therapist was already indicating which seat Geralt was to take. With a growl, he settled slowly into the chair. 

The massage therapist began kneading Geralt's shoulders. 

"How's that pressure for you?" Geralt inclined his head slightly in approval.

"So, how long have you been engaged?"

"It's early days, but we've been together for a few years."

"Do you have a date set?"

"Not yet."

"What's your partner like?"

"She's great. Dark eyes, dark hair, long legs."

"Ooh, pretty! How did you meet?"

"On the road. I travel a lot for work but I knew the moment I laid eyes on her, she had to be mine."

The massage therapist smiled warmly down at him.

"That's very sweet. She sounds like a keeper."

"Yes. She carries me when I can't go on. She keeps me warm at night and supports me during the day. She is with me when no one else is; she's the only one I can talk to sometimes, the only one I can really be myself around. Sometimes we have to be apart, but I trust she knows I will always come back to her. For as long as we're both alive I know we'll be a team."

By this point, other staff at the kiosk were paying attention. One dabbed at her eyes.

"That's beautiful. She's a very lucky woman. What's her name?"

"Roach."

A confused pause.

"Rochelle?"

"Sure."

Jaskier couldn't take it anymore.

"Geralt! You are  _ not  _ marrying your horse!"


	4. In Which Jaskier And Geralt Pretend To Be Engaged To Win A Pointless Knick-Knack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By ramsay_baggins

“Geralt!” came Jaskier’s excited voice, “Come here!”

Geralt turned from the stall covered in gaudy trinkets to see Jaskier beckoning him over.

“We could win some engraved shot glasses and they’re sooo pretty,” he said, his doe eyes looking up at the taller man.

The salesman clearly knew he was in and put on a big smile.

“Yes, the happy couple who wins gets to take away not only the shot glasses but a bottle of single malt whisky; to enter we just need to take your names and how you first met! The raffle is just about to be drawn so you’ve got perfect timing,” he winked at them.

Jaskier clapped his hands in excitement. “Look darling, they even have Mr & Mr glasses, isn’t that just perfect!”

Geralt looked down at him with steely eyes. “Yes. Perfect.”

The salesman asked for their details. “I’m Jaskier, and he’s Geralt,” he replied, twining his hand around Geralt’s arm. “We met in a bar. I was performing and he was just drawn to my voice." He looked up at Geralt and sighed, his hand finding the taller man’s and his fingers interlacing with Geralt’s. “Honestly, it was love at first sight. He saved my life from some horrible monsters that evening and I just knew we were meant to be!”

The salesman smiled, “Aww, that is just so cute! I’m sure your wedding is going to be very romantic.” He put the slip of paper into the tombola, rotated it as a crowd gathered and then pulled a ticket out.

“And the winners are… Jaskier and Geralt! Congratulations! You can use your Mr & Mr glasses for your wedding toast, we wish you the happiest of weddings and marriages!”

Jaskier jumped with delight and pulled Geralt up to collect their prize.

“Thank you so much! I’m just so excited to be marrying the love of my life!” He rose on his tiptoes and kissed Geralt on the cheek to cheers from the crowd.

Geralt looked down at him. “I need a drink.”


	5. In Which Jaskier Falls In Love With A Piece Of Wedding Decor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By ramsay_baggins

They rounded the corner and Geralt instantly knew Jaskier’s eyes had widened like a kitten’s without even having to look.

The bard raced ahead of him, crying, “We need it!” as he jumped onto the white and gold faux-leather eight foot tall throne. Six foot white letters with soft glowing bulbs spelt out L-O-V-E on either side.

Jaskier was already lounging, one leg hanging over an armrest, the other fist under his chin.

“Jaskier, we do not need a gilt throne at the wedding,” Geralt intoned, the beginnings of exasperation creeping through his voice, though he was clearly trying to battle a smile.

“Am I not your Prince, Geralt? Do I not _deserve_ a gilt leather throne at my own wedding? Am I not good enough to be treated like royalty? Do you not love me?!” As he cried the last words he flopped back in the chair, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead.

“People are looking at you,” Geralt replied, a single eyebrow raised.

“Good! Let them see how _mean_ you’re being to me! Your wonderful fiance, deprived of such a beautiful decoration?” He was sitting upright in the throne now, arms spread wide.

Geralt shook his head, smiling, and rolled his eyes. “You really are the most ridiculous person I know.”

Jaskier leaned forward, “You know,” he said, more seriously, “I was joking at first but I do actually think we need this now.”

“Get up,” Geralt sighed. “There’s a gin sample stall over there.” 

=

_Jaskier gasped, already looking moony eyed._

_"How about this one? Very siege-chic, just look at those parapets. I can see myself up on the battlements, singing my vows as you hold off an unwashed horde, and the wind is blowing, and you stab something through the heart and then look me in the eyes and declare your undying love!"_

_"No."_


	6. In Which Geralt Pets An Alpaca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By EnigmaticPangolin

Jaskier yelped, the sound’s suddenness and volume making Geralt wince. 

“Geralt! Look! Look at the alpacas!”

“I can see them.”

“They’re so fluffy!” Jaskier trotted up to the pen containing four docile ungulates. Geralt growled softly and followed.

“Hello you cute little things, hello!”

He leant forward to lightly touch a golden brown one on its wide back, and gave another little squeal. 

“So soft! Which is your favourite? I think mine is the black one,” Jaskier indicated the largest of the alpacas, standing in the centre of the pen, neck held erect, looking at Jaskier and Geralt with an air of weary disapproval. The dignity of its expression and bearing was compromised by a glossy dark blue bowtie looped beneath its chin.

“It looks a bit like you,” he finished. Geralt turned to walk away. “No, Geralt, wait! Come and pet the alpacas. Please. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Grudgingly, he turned back and looked at the alpacas, meeting the liquid eyes of a chestnut-coloured one. He slowly lifted a hand to the alpaca’s muzzle. The animal sniffed briefly, then leaned into the offered hand to lip Geralt’s palm. Geralt gently stroked its neck. The peace of the moment was broken when Geralt looked sharply at Jaskier who was gazing at the scene with huge, moist eyes and a rapt expression. 

“Jaskier, are you – what are you looking at.”

“I um, I just noticed that that one has a flower garland necklace, and it’s very cute. That’s all.”

“Hm.” A pause. “They are quite nice. Soft. Roach would like one.”

“Yes, I’m sure… Roach would.”

“She gets lonely.”

“Lonely. Right.”

“Hand me a booking form. Please.”

“Righty-oh.” 


	7. In Which Geralt Saves A Child’s Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By EnigmaticPangolin

Yennefer found herself at a stand displaying carts full of different foods – donuts on racks like a children’s hoop game, lavish charcuterie on a quaint covered stall, and a large cart covered in large jars of brightly coloured sweets, glittering with sugar and fringed by a family with two round-eyed boys staring at the confections. At the front of the cart, a large plate of golden tablet formed an inviting centrepiece. Yennefer popped some in her mouth and enjoyed the melting sweetness. Looking around, she saw on the next aisle down an alpaca petting pen – and Geralt lifting Jaskier reluctantly by the waist to allow him to more easily stroke the silly animals. She inhaled sharply to stifle a laugh, and with the breath came a shard of tablet, catching at the back of her throat. After ten interminable seconds of coughing, eye-streaming helplessness, she dislodged the sweet and looked around surreptitiously to check that no one had noticed her moment of vulnerability. She realised there was a commotion to her right – one of the boys had apparently met the same tablet-related doom as her, and the choking child’s parents were fussing over him in a panic.

She set herself to cast a spell, but before she could bring the words that would help to mind, a grey-white blur passed her: in a trice, Geralt was there, bending the child forward and thumping his back firmly once -- twice—and the treacherous candy came loose.

“Thank you! Oh thank you, you saved his life,” the boy’s mother said tremblingly, huge-eyed with relief.

The father clapped Geralt on his shoulder. “We owe you – what can we do to repay you?”

“Nothing. The boy is safe. Carry on with your day.”

“We could always do that old-fashioned thing, the law of surprise.”

“No.” Flat, firm.

“What’s the law of surprise?” The mother asked.

Yennefer stopped listening for a few minutes as she plucked some sour cherries from their shining jars and chewed on them meditatively. Her attention returned to Geralt when he sighed heavily.

“Very well,” he growled, focusing on the boy’s mother, “But lady, please tell me – _promise_ me – that you aren’t pregnant.”

The woman looked uncomfortable, turning to her companion “I was waiting to tell you till it was more certain, but—”

Yennefer went to find some more free gin.

_=_

_"You don't understand. I can't go back there."_

_Geralt shook his head and backed away slowly from the vendor._

_The gray granite house was a sprawling monstrosity, dominating the houses around it. There were stone statues of the owner guarding the front gates. There was an oversized water feature crowding the front lawn. It had a fake portcullis._

_Jaskier placed his hands on his hips and attempted to look stern."You can't have been that bad. And this one comes with an honour guard and a pair of those trumpet players!" His voice trailed off on a whine._

_Geralt looked a little pale. "There was an incident with a bee hive, a bath, a rather buxom lady and a jam jar. I'm no longer allowed within town limits. No, I do not wish to speak of it further."_


	8. In Which Jaskier Discovers A Great Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By EnigmaticPangolin

“Geralt! Come quickly.” There was a tension, a sharpness, an edge of fear to Jaskier’s voice that Geralt immediately responded to, and he followed the bard through the increasingly crowded fair with complete focus. Jaskier stopped at a stand of large-scale decorations: letters studded with lightbulbs, large stands from which bouquets of flowers might cascade, that sort of thing. Jaskier looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. 

“I’ve found a monster. Two, actually. Look.”

Geralt looked towards where Jaskier’s trembling finger pointed, his golden eyes widening momentarily, then his expression impassive once more.

“They aren’t monsters. They are perfectly harmless objects.”

The perfectly harmless objects gazed back at Jaskier, faces frozen in expressions of malicious joy. They were two stout statues, each about two feet tall, features huge and too vivid, red-cheeked and pointy-eared. One waved at the viewer with a leer, dressed in a morning suit, little chipboard head topped with a tall hat. The other was adorned in a long white dress and veil, tiny hands clasped around a pink bouquet: the flowers matched the other figure’s hat band and pocket square. A grotesque effigy of a bride and groom.

“Those,” Jaskier’s voice broke, then fell into a strangled whisper; his quivering finger jabbed forcefully towards the statues once more, “Are _not_ harmless. They’re monsters! No way could a person, a craftsman, have created something so ugly.”

“They are absolutely harmless. In fact, I think they’re charming.”

“You. You, Geralt of Rivia, Witcher of legend, think those-- those horrid little... _things…_ are _charming_?” 

“Yup. Perhaps even cute.”

“You’re joking.”

“In fact, I think we should get them. They would look wonderful in the wedding photos.”

“Geralt, no.”

“Fetch me the forms.”

“Geralt please, _please_ , tell me you’re joking.”

“Piss off, Bard.”

Jaskier found Yennefer at the bar with a queue of empty glasses on the table in front of her, and a tall glass, half-filled with a deep red liquid, in her hand. 

“Yennefer, come quick! Something terrible has happened!”

She looked around at him, instantly alert, straightening from her desultory slump.

“What is it?”

“I found two monsters, and now I think they’re controlling Geralt’s mind?” Jaskier sounded desperate now, hopping from one foot to the other in agitation. He looked like he was about to wet himself.

Yennefer frowned, then saw behind Jaskier Geralt’s huge frame approaching. Under his arm he held two - what were they? Two squat statuettes, leering out at the world with overwrought grins and gaudy paint. Harmless enough, but ugly as shit.

She downed the rest of the cloying cocktail - called Going To The Chapel and disgusting stuff, would have been daylight robbery if she’d actually paid for it.

“Piss off, Bard.”

=

_It was definitely high class, all squeaky clean parquet floors and shiny metal fixtures. Even the curtains looked starched._

_Geralt looked faintly disgusted. "It says no animals."_

_Yennefer shrugged. "I'm sure if we ask nicely they'll let Jaskier in anyway."_


	9. In Which Jaskier Is Forced To Consider A Wedding Band

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

Geralt’s golden eyes settled on a stall across the aisle as he drained his plastic sample cup. A very hungover-looking man stood dressed in a kilt and a quail-feathered beret, with a bagpipe strapped to his waist. Picture frames spread out behind him, photographs of people playing instruments before crowds of merry dancers. The piper noticed Geralt's gaze and, emboldened, stepped forward.

"Have you thought about having a band at your wedding?" he asked. "Or... any other event?"

Geralt looked down to Jaskier, smothering a grin. “We will need a band for our wedding, won’t we? You love music.”

“I... thought I'd play myself, actually,” Jaskier said wistfully.

"Absolutely not," Yennefer said, appearing at Jaskier's other elbow and boxing him in between the two of them and the piper. “That wouldn’t be very _special_ , would it? You hear yourself play all the time. And your first dance...”

"Right," Geralt continued. "You'd miss your own wedding.”

Jaskier turned a strange shade of red. "I always thought that instead of having a first dance, I would... serenade my beloved with a song I'd written about us."

"Hmm," Geralt said, a smile almost tugging at his mouth. He wasn't sure if the idea of Jaskier singing another of his own songs at him was absurd or endearing.

"And after that?" Yennefer pressed. "You would leave your new husband to dance _alone_ , would you? I hadn’t realised what a terribly cruel fiancé you were, Jaskier."

"Well... I mean..." Jaskier stammered. "I shouldn't do that, should I?"

"We can play for wedding dances," the musician piped up, having remembered he was meant to be selling them something. “Or other events.”

"Have another drink, Jaskier," Yennefer said, gripping the bard's shoulder and nodding towards a stand with a small tower of sample glasses. "Have another drink and think about it."

Geralt put his hand on Jaskier's other shoulder, and leaned close enough to whisper as they walked away. "You are _not_ going to play Toss A Coin To Your Witcher at _any_ wedding I am involved in."

=

_A castle on a cliff, high above the beautiful blue sea. Vintage exposed brickwork, a beautiful winter garden for photographs, a grand banquet hall that could seat a hundred and twenty guests._

_“Absolutely not.” Yennefer shook her head, tapping her nails against the glossy photograph. “Sold the lord’s wife a fertility potion. Didn’t realise it wasn’t for his lordship’s use. Apparently, I shouldn’t darken their door again.”_


	10. In Which Yennefer Points Out The Obvious, And Is Denied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

“You know,” Yennefer said, after watching Jaskier claim that he and Geralt had adopted a small dog together in order to acquire a pet bandanna printed with the phrase ‘Mutt of Honour’ that none of them wanted or needed. “You don’t need to pretend to be engaged to _each other_ to get free things.”

The pair of them stared at her.

“...It would be suspicious,” Geralt eventually said. “If we change our story now.”

“I’ve been making up a completely different future spouse at every single stall we’ve visited,” Yennefer said flatly. “It’s quite fun, actually.”

Jaskier shook his head, squaring his hands on his hips in some attempt at authoritativeness. “It’s easier this way. What if I, with my keen eye for artistic observation and description, am accidentally inspired by a real person and it becomes a scandal?”

“I literally told the man at the cupcake stall I was engaged to Triss Merigold so he’d give me a second cake with her initials on it,” Yennefer replied. “You’d actually get twice as many freebies at some kiosks if you pretended you were having two different weddings.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Yennefer sighed. “...Do as you will.”

=

_“You are not getting married at Aretuza,” Yennefer said firmly, as Jaskier gazed, wide-eyed, at the dramatic majesty of the waterfall beneath the academy. “Firstly, because I am not going back there unless I have to, and secondly because the food is shit.”_


	11. In Which Geralt Makes A Pact With A Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By EnigmaticPangolin

“ _Those_ are your rates? For what, twenty minutes?”

The musician shuffled, trying to take up even less space in the corner of the booth Jaskier had backed him into. 

“Um..the night... You see, I’m quite new and-”

“How will anyone value you - our _whole profession_ if you don’t value yourself? The work you put into improving? The hours you spend honing your talent, writing songs, promoting, practicing? The money you put into your equipment?”

“I - Sorr-”

“Frankly, my friend, you are fucking it for the rest of us, and you should -”

Geralt slipped away, leaving Jaskier to berate the hapless musician. Elsewhere, Yennefer was verbally eviscerating a middle-aged man who had teased her with a sample of an alcoholic slushie by holding it in front of her and snatching it away when she reached for it, with the claim that he couldn’t be sure she was over 21. A good opportunity to finish some business.

He returned to the alpaca pen. A couple of people stood at its edge, taking photos of the animals, but Geralt glared at them and stood stiffly in the frame of the photographs with his eyes blazing at them, until they scurried away. He stared at the chestnut creature he had stroked earlier. It didn’t seem to notice him, but it did appear to be much more interested in the straw flooring than it had been before, shuffling in an awkward circle until it faced away from the witcher.

“Give it up, monster. I know you’re faking.”

The alpaca studiously ignored him.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of silver at that jewellery stand over there. Don’t make me go and get it.”

The alpaca swung its head up to look at him balefully. Its eyes glowed white and its throat bulged obscenely as something shifted within it. Geralt watched, unblinking.

“Leave it alone, mate.” The not-alpaca had a guttural voice, the edges of the words slightly blurred by the unsuitable mouth configuration.

“What’s a doppler doing at a wedding fair?”

“It’s a cushy gig, innit.”

“Is it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“...”

The doppler shifted, craning its neck towards Geralt appealingly. 

“Come on mate, let us have this. We're not doing no harm to no one, are we?”

Geralt sighed. “I suppose not.”

“‘Zactly.”

The pair regarded each other.

“A cushy gig? Really.”

“Think about it, mate. We’re brushed, we’re petted, free room and board and all the grass we can eat. Hardly a rough life, is it?”

Geralt looked at the not-alpaca.

The not-alpaca looked at Geralt.

“Honestly, fair.”

“Alright. So can we count on you to let us get on with living our blameless alpaca life?”

“Very well.”

“Thanks, mate, you’re a proper geezer, you are.”

=

_Yennefer was already flicking through the pages of the photo album. "Ooh, look! A spa! And hot springs!" She eyed the men up and down and sniffed delicately._

_Jaskier shrugged and unexpectedly blushed. "I wouldn't suggest that one. I was there last year and the locals are very fond of the word 'jiggly'. And butt slaps."_

_She took a moment to mull it over._

_"I mean, I could work with that."_


	12. In Which Geralt Wears A Kilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

They'd come into the kilt sales kiosk because of the whiskey. Yennefer took another slow, savouring sip. It was _decent_ whiskey, even.

"Ah yes, I'm _definitely_ getting the smokiness," Jaskier suggested, even as the measuring line on his glass suggested he'd barely touched it.

"Absolutely not," Yennefer replied. Perhaps today she would get him to admit that he hated whiskey. Perhaps she could get him to give her his glass.

"Geralt?" Jaskier pleaded.

Geralt took another sip. "It's whiskey, Jaskier. It tastes like whiskey."

The shadow of a tall, dark-haired saleswoman fell across the amber liquid. "Are any of you looking to try something on?"

Without even turning from the wall of plaid fabric samples, Yennefer and Jaskier immediately pointed at Geralt. A silent, instinctual pact that they would both like to see him wearing beautiful clothes.

"Oh, perfect," she beamed. "A tall, rugged type like you, you're going to look amazing." She glanced at Yennefer and Jaskier. "Now, is your lucky fiancé(e) here with you today?"

"...Yes," Geralt replied. The saleswoman stared for a few more seconds, presumably hoping he would indicate which one of them it was.

Yennefer took another slow sip of whiskey. Smooth, sea salt and caramel.

"You make such a lovely couple," the saleswoman smiled.

"Thank you," Jaskier replied.

The saleswoman led Geralt away, asking if he'd ever worn a kilt before, if he was looking for any particular family tartans, if he'd like to try on a sporran or sgian-dubh. Geralt assured her that he already had a knife concealed in his boot.

Yennefer couldn't hide the way her eyes raked over Geralt when he walked back out from behind the curtain. A tightly cut black jacket, silver studs along the cuffs and lapel. He would likely be more comfortable in just a loose shirt, certainly, but she had to admit it was striking. It was the kind of thing she would dress him in. The tartan on his kilt was black, white and dark brown, thick gold lines that matched his eyes criss-crossing the fabric.

He still had one smooth leg and one hairy one.

"What?" Geralt said, eyes turning to Jaskier. Yennefer expected to see him smothering a laugh at Geralt's unfortunately shaved leg, but the bard looked oddly petulant, hiding behind his as-yet-untouched glass of whiskey.

"You look..." Jaskier swallowed. "Well, I just didn't expect you to steal my thunder, is all."

Geralt's face contorted in utter disbelief. "You're... jealous?"

Yennefer tried, very hard, not to roll her eyes. "Jasker," she said, taking a deep breath to emphasize her point. " _You can both wear a kilt_."

Jaskier seemed to brighten at this suggestion. He immediately walked towards the suit jacket Yennefer was hoping he wouldn't notice. A silky material, pale blue, embroidered with roses. The type of jacket that straddled the line between gaudy and beautiful. Tragically, utterly Jaskier.

“I think we’ll make quite a handsome pair, don’t you?” he said, running his fingers along the embroidery. “The Witcher and his bard?”

=

_“Hmm.”_


	13. In Which Geralt Gets His Hair Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By ramsay_baggins

Jaskier was deep in animated conversation with the kilt hire salesman when a woman peeked into Geralt’s view.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Is he your fiance?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, finding it was getting easier and easier for that to roll off the tongue.

The woman smiled warmly. 

“Well I couldn’t help but notice your gorgeous hair! Would you like to come over and we’ll do a trial for you? If you would let us get a picture afterwards?” This could be fun, Geralt thought. At least he wouldn’t have to watch Jaskier try to work out a discount. “Sure.”

When Jaskier finally found him Geralt was having flowers intricately braided into his hair while three women smiled and laughed. He had a glass of prosecco in his hand and there was definitely a rosy smile on his face as snippets of “Your hair is just so lovely,” and “Of course you’re handsome! Your fiance is so lucky to have you,” drifted over.

He waited and watched as they finished his hair, as he stood up the women gathered in close to him and got a smiling selfie, before taking a couple more photos of the hairstyle. Geralt thanked them warmly before turning and seeing Jaskier. He raised his prosecco glass and walked over.

“You know, I am not used to people complimenting my hair,” he said. “I think I quite enjoyed that.”

Jaskier replied, “That is a lot of flowers. Suits you.”

“Don’t you dare tell Yen I didn’t hate this,” came the answer as Geralt downed his glass.

“Oh don’t worry, it’s not like I’d write a song about it or anything,” Jaskier said, an innocent look on his face. He yelped and started running towards a drinks stall as Geralt growled “Jaskieerrrr!”

=

_“Nope.”_

_A quaint country farmhouse, with its own orchard and loch, the house’s brickwork painted a delicate pink and half-covered in climbing roses._

_“Why not?” asked Jaskier, “It’s so pretty. Think of the pictures!”_

_“Cursed.” Geralt replied._

_“Cursed how?”_

_“Badly.”_


	14. In Which Yennefer Critiques Jaskier’s Wedding Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

“No,” Yennefer said, pressing the rim of the now-empty glass of complimentary prosecco for the bridal party against her jaw.

Jaskier was standing in a lace confection of a dress, floral embellishments encrusting his neck, a tight hourglass-cut awkwardly hugging his hips. He plucked at the neckline of the dress, emphasising the hair that ran all the way up to his neck.

“I can shave,” he protested.

Yennefer pinched the bridge of her nose. “That isn’t the _problem_ , Jaskier. You don’t need to shave. This just… isn’t your dress.”

“He looks fine,” Geralt said, a hint of protectiveness to his voice that would have been charming were it not so entirely misguided.

“Thank you,” Jaskier replied.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Yennefer snapped. His full name. She was serious. “Have you ever looked good in a dress in your entire life?”

Geralt hesitated. “...No,” he admitted.

“And that’s because you’re happy with ' _Fine_. _It fits, I suppose'_ .” Yennefer turned back to Jaskier. “Is this what you want, Jaskier? To look _okay_ on your wedding day? To wear a dress you can barely walk in, in a lace that doesn’t suit you, with sleeves too narrow for your shoulders?”

Jaskier pressed his lips together, having been caught in mid-adjustment of a slipping sleeve. Yennefer held out her empty glass as the beleaguered sales assistant passed, commanding another top-up.

“Then you’d better listen to me, Jaskier,” she said, violet eyes blazing with purpose. “Because we are not stopping at _fine,_ Jaskier. We are stopping at perfect. We are stopping at _everything_.”


	15. In Which Yennefer Tries On A Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

“No,” Jaskier said, reaching for the glass of complimentary prosecco for the bridal party. “It’s _your_ turn to be corseted into things and _my_ turn to drink sparkling wine and criticize your outfits.”

Yennefer’s eyes fell on Geralt. “ _Well_ ,” she said. “We’re all bridesmaids here, aren’t we? Why don’t you go first, Geralt?”

The tiny, curly-haired old woman running the kiosk shook her head sadly. “We’ve already sold out of our taller sizes, so... I’m afraid we have nothing for this very large, very beautiful man to try on.”

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips and turned his deceptively innocent blue eyes on Yennefer, shooting her a not-innocent-at-all look that said _if you don’t try anything on, none of us will get any wine_.

“Fine,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier’s pleading expression melted into a victorious smile. He kicked back into one of the wicker chairs in front of the changing room and nudged the back of Geralt’s leg with his foot. Geralt sat stiffly next to Jaskier and took a glass of wine, saying nothing.

“So, you said you were _all_ bridesmaids?” the old woman prompted.

“I’m actually the bride’s step-mother,” Yennefer replied, smiling tightly. “Do you have anything in white?”

The woman shot a worried look at Jaskier, who shrugged and continued to lounge. 

“Whatever she wants,” Geralt said flatly, taking a long sip from the flute of prosecco. “Ciri won’t care.”

The woman bustled Yennefer behind the curtain of the changing room. Jaskier propped his chin up on his fist and calmly sipped his wine as he listened to the sounds of Yennefer protesting, the voice of the old woman repeatedly offering her large, floppy hats.

When Yennefer emerged, she was wearing a long, sleek dress. Its near-white had a silver sheen, and faded through an ombre towards the hem of the dress, dusty pink to blood red. There was, indeed, something perched on her head. A white fascinator with a net that half-covered Yennefer’s face, studded with red, heart-shaped sequins, an inverted parody of a funerary veil.

“You look like you’ve just murdered your husband,” Jaskier said, pointing with his glass. “Not in a bad way, I mean. I’m sure he deserved it.”

The tiny old woman was nodding with a slightly terrifying amount of enthusiasm, hands clasped together, eyes magnified by her spectacles.

“...That gives me an idea for a ballad, actually,” Jaskier murmured, feeling in his jacket for his pocket notebook.

Yennefer turned in the mirror, admiring the dress. “I don’t normally wear white, but I actually quite like this.”

“If you’d like,” the old woman suggested. “I could score a little zig-zag through the sequins so they bend into broken hearts.”

“Genius,” Yennefer whispered.

Geralt reached for another glass of wine.

=

_Yennefer was waving something in front of his face again. "The brochure says it's 'exclusively remote' and 'uniquely situated'."_

_"It's halfway up a mountain."_

_She pouted. "There's a hell of a view, and the hermit has a lovely waterfall to cleanse yourself in before the ritual. If we wait until summer the chances of anything falling off are really small."_


	16. In Which Geralt Secretly Buys Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By ramsay_baggins

A salesman at another free drinks stall beckoned the trio over.

“You three having a nice time?” he smiled as he poured some samples into small disposable shot glasses.”

“Oh yes,” Jaskier smiled. “My fiancé and I are really enjoying ourselves.” He looked at Geralt with a lovestruck expression.

Geralt rolled his eyes, “It’s certainly been an eye opening experience.”

Yen replied, “It’s really shown just how well matched they are as a couple.”

The man smiled, “Well let me tell you about the offer we have on our gins and liqueurs today! We’re giving a discount if you buy 10 more more minis or 3 or more full bottles! They make perfect wedding favours.”

Geralt picked up one of the shot glasses.

“Careful, that one’s a full strength gin, would you like some tonic?”

Geralt glared at him and downed the laughably small sample. “I don’t water down my alcohol.”

The man smiled. “Of course! Silly me.”

Jaskier coughed as the strong alcohol caught in his throat. “Yep,” he wheezed, “Me neither!” He thumped his chest. Yen slapped him on the back as she ordered a bottle.

Geralt barely managed to conceal a smile.

“We also have some very tasty liqueurs you should try,” came the salesman’s voice, placing three shot glasses of very brightly coloured liquid in front of each of them.

“The first is a strawberry and mint,” as they drank the bright red alcohol.

“Oh that is just delicious!” Jaskier crooned, Geralt seemed less impressed.

The second was a deep purple colour, purported to be blackberry. Again Jaskier was completely taken with it.

The third was a neon pink, the salesman setting it down with a playful look in his eye. “This one,” he said, “Is candy flavoured.”

Geralt pulled a face, “I think I’ll leave that one.”

“Oh no!” Jaskier replied, “You have to try it. For me?” he looked up with puppy eyes.

“Fine,” Geralt replied, downing the drink.

“What did you think?” asked Jaskier after downing his own. “It’s fantastic, right?”

Geralt looked down at him with an incredulous expression, “It’s horrible. Let’s go.”

“Oh,” Jaskier deflated. “Well, thank you very much anyway,” he said to the bartender as he turned to leave with Yennefer, who had already walked off, his gait starting to show the effects of all the free samples.

Geralt waited until he was sure they weren’t looking before buying three bottles of the candy liqueur.

=

_“Look at this,” Jaskier gasped, grabbing a leaflet to read aloud from. “The court artist will create a custom coat of arms to represent your new family. We will fly your heraldic banner from the castle flagpole to mark your special day.”_

_“Jaskier,” Yennefer mused. “Doesn’t your family…”_

_Jaskier waved her words aside with a flick of his wrist. “That’s different, Yennefer.” Jaskier jabbed Geralt’s sturdy waist with his elbow. Geralt didn’t move. “What would you like, Geralt? A wolf’s head? A sword? I’d want something artistic, of course. A scroll or a quill, or perhaps flowers. I suppose we can add something for Yennefer, if we’re feeling generous.”_

_“I don’t think you want this,” Geralt said flatly._

_Jaskier lifted his head. “Don’t want my own coat of arms? What are you--”_

_Jaskier’s eyes caught the photograph at the back of the stall. Yes, that stern lord of the manor was definitely the one that had caught Jaskier fleeing from his young betrothed’s bedchamber the night before their wedding._

_“...You’re right, maybe I don’t.”_


	17. In Which Jaskier Faces His Bardic Nemesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

Yennefer watched the musicians by the bar finish tuning their instruments, as she drained the amber slush of her frozen margarita. It occurred to her that their lead looked like a slightly more expensive version of Jaskier - his hair longer and glossier, his black silk shirt tailored close to his lithe torso, his lute gleaming with a fresh coat of polish. It was a little unfortunate, but yes - the swaggering manner, the puppyish smile, they were far too similar. It was as if Jaskier had been Made.

When she turned her eyes back to her companions, Jaskier had shrunk behind Geralt, carefully hidden from the musician's view. Muscles Yennefer didn't know humans had tensed in Jaskier's neck. He was clutching his glass so tightly that his nails and knuckles had turned white.

"It's  _ him _ ," Jaskier growled.

"Hmm?" Geralt said, glancing down from his own glass, paper umbrella rolling along the rim.

" _ Valdo Marx _ ," Jaskier said, narrowing his eyes.

Geralt took a glance towards the other bard and let out a sharp  _ ha _ . "Is that the one you asked the Djinn to kill?”

"Maybe he's a doppler," Jaskier said through his teeth. "Maybe he's a  _ monster _ and  _ you  _ should kill him."

Geralt was about to give a familiar objection, that  _ monster  _ did not always mean  _ monstrous _ .

And then Valdo Marx started to play the opening strums of a familiar tune.

It was Geralt's turn to scowl. A hairline crack split the side of the glass from the pressure of Geralt's grip.

"Why," Geralt said slowly. "Is he playing  _ that song _ ?"

" _ I don't know _ , Geralt," Jaskier replied, voice reaching a pitch Yennefer hadn't thought Jaskier had the range for. Valdo Marx, from what she could hear,  _ did _ have the range, although she imagined that the way he was showing that off by sliding through all the wrong key changes was in some way  _ rude  _ in the bardic world. "I don't know why he's playing  _ a song I wrote _ ."

"Well, boys," Yennefer said, smiling placidly. " _ I'm _ going to get another drink."

She climbed over the bench, wobbling slightly on her heels. The frozen margarita must have been stronger than she thought. She was definitely getting another one. She sidled up to the bar, hovering close to the other bard.

"Another of these," she said to the bartender.

She pretended to be hearing the bard for the first time. Looking over her shoulder, smiling at him warmly. He'd definitely noticed  _ her _ . She chanced a look past him. Geralt was sitting alone. She supposed Jaskier hadn't been able to take it anymore.

"What a  _ lovely _ song," she breezed, taking her drink from the bartender as the black-clad bard finished.

Valdo Marx smirked and leaned his elbow on the bar, lute hanging by his hips. "Thank you," he said, slicking his hair back in a manner that Yennefer found faintly repulsive. "I wrote it myself."

"Oh?" Yennefer said neutrally. Perhaps she'd been too hard on Jaskier. He'd never made her skin crawl like this. “So you’ve met Geralt of Rivia, then?”

“In passing,” Valdo Marx said, unconvincingly.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, the way the delicious pink slush crashed against the side of Valdo Marx's face, like a wave breaking against a cliff. The way the melted liquid that pooled at the edge of the margarita glass cut across his cheek. The way the margarita’s arc was angled  _ just so _ for pieces of coloured ice to splatter across the delicate strings of Valdo Marx's lute.

"Whoops! I am  _ so _ sorry," Jaskier said, pressing his free hand against his chest. "I am just  _ so _ clumsy."

Valdo Marx narrowed his eyes. " _ Jaskier _ ," he hissed.

Geralt was standing at Jaskier's back before the first thick droplet of frozen margarita could drip from Valdo Marx's face to his shirt, face set in a stony growl.

"Apologies," Geralt said tersely, throwing an arm around Jaskier's shoulder. "My fiancé is  _ very _ clumsy, and we’ll be going now."

Valdo Marx froze, teeth gritted. Yennefer could only assume that someone plagiarizing a song about Geralt of Rivia at least knew what the White Wolf looked like. Jaskier puffed his chest up in the way that Yennefer had only seen him do when he knew Geralt would be there to stop anyone from punching him in the face.

"No hard feelings?" Jaskier said smugly.

"...No hard feelings," Valdo Marx growled.


	18. In Which There Is A Photobooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By ramsay_baggins

“There. Is. A. Photobooth.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt and Yennefer and pulled them towards the curtained cubicle. “I _love_ photobooths.”

Yen put her hand on her hip. “I am not,” she said, “getting in there with you.” She smiled, “But I bet Geralt would love to.”

Geralt shot her a look before he was pushed into the booth by Jaskier.

“Look! You can choose all kinds of filters!” he squealed, heady with excitement. “And there are PROPS!”

He shoved an awful cheap looking cowboy hat on Geralt’s head before sticking some oversized star shaped glasses on his face.

Yen listened to the strange grunts and noises coming from the booth before reaching for the newly printed photos. It started with both of the boys looking at the camera, both wearing hideous novelty props. Geralt stared with a slightly annoyed expression whereas Jaskier had his mouth wide open in a smile, fingers held up in a peace sign. The next three photos showed a progression of Jaskier getting closer and closer to a recoiling Geralt before planting a huge kiss on his cheek. At that moment Jaskier stumbled backwards out of the booth laughing, followed by Geralt wiping a hand across his cheek.

“Looks like you boys had fun,” she smirked before taking her place in the booth. She needed passport photos after all.

=

_Even the booth was luxurious: bigger than average, with large screens flicking through a slideshow of photos of a huge stately home, immaculately maintained. Tall standing tables were dotted around the booth, topped with dishes contantaining piles of delicately wrapped pink macarons. The photos flipped brightly by: topiary peacocks lining a sweeping drive; a pleasingly-proportioned ballroom filled with tables that glittered with glass and tasteful centrepieces; a coy through-the-door shot of a lavish honeymoon suite. A grand sign proclaiming: Stregobor Hotels._

_“Have you heard of us?” a polished sales-woman offered Geralt a glossy brochure._

_“Yes; this place is owned by one of the most evil men I know. I fought for my life on that driveway.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“I’ll take some of those macarons, though.”_


	19. In Which Jaskier Plays His Dream Role

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By EnigmaticPangolin

Geralt discreetly necked a gulp from the bottle of candy liqueur. He relaxed on one of the picnic benches that fringed the hall. His moment of peace was broken when a slight woman with vivid pink hair tapped his shoulder purposefully, her face set and worried.

“Excuse me, your fiancé needs you.” 

Geralt grunted and stood, trying not to mimic the urgency of the woman’s steps as she led him to a wedding dress stall. There, it took Geralt a moment to locate Jaskier, so thickly surrounded was he by well-meaning staff members. Yennefer, trying on a hat that looked like a sequinned cake, rolled her eyes at Geralt.

“I found him!” the pink-haired woman announced, and the crowd parted instantly to grant Geralt access. There, Jaskier lay half-propped against the legs of a chair. He was wearing a frothing confection of a dress, all lace and netting; he looked like he was half-submerged in a bubble bath. His face was hidden behind a hanky, and his shoulders shook intermittently. In one hand he held an empty champagne flute.

“I don’t know what happened,” said a plump attendant. “I went to get a veil for him” - they waved the gauzy item - “and when I got back he was just like this.” They fidgeted with their plait and gazed up at him. “What should we do?”

“Hm.”

“I found more prosecco!” another attendant bustled through with a bottle and solicitously refilled Jaskier’s flute. Jaskier stopped dabbing at his face and looked up. His face was streaked with makeup; Geralt was certain Jaskier hadn’t been wearing sparkly blue mascara at the beginning of the day, but now it left glittering trails in the wake of his tears.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said shakily, and took a careful sip. Then he noticed Geralt.

“What are you doing.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, beseeching, shining with tears.

“Please. I need to be away from here.”

Geralt looked around at the knot of people surrounding Jaskier, all staring up at him expectantly, and at Yennefer, who was attaching what seemed to be a cluster of hand-sized orchids to her hair and carefully avoiding eye contact. He growled. One of the attendants squeaked.

Geralt bent and scooped Jaskier into a fireman’s carry. Jaskier didn’t spill a drop of prosecco. The excessive skirts completely blocked Geralt’s view to his left. A sigh went up around the crowd.

Jaskier weakly - theatrically, Geralt thought - draped a limp hand over Geralt’s shoulder, and leaned his head against the witcher’s broad chest.

“This has given me such a good idea for my Stucky fic”, someone whispered excitedly. Geralt started to carry Jaskier away from the stall.

“Um-” Geralt turned back to fix the stall attendant with his golden stare; she quailed. 

“Can you bring the dress back when you can, please? Sorry. Your friend over at the hats has his clothes. Sorry.”

Jaskier whimpered and turned his face in towards Geralt’s chest. Geralt carried Jaskier back to the benches he had been resting on, depositing the bard on the table’s surface. Jaskier immediately sprang into a pose - resting back on one arm, sipping his prosecco, legs curled coyly into the ample lace of the dress. Geralt noticed that ‘MRS’ was spelt out across Jaskier’s stomach in diamantes. Jaskier’s eyes were bright - also dry - and his face, still make-up stained, was glowing with triumph.

“What was that about?”

“Wasn’t it wonderful?”

“No.”

“Yes it was; I was fabulous! I’ve always wanted to play the weeping bride.”

= 

_"Oh hey, I set that place on fire once!"_


	20. In Which Yennefer Refuses To Be Wedding Entertainment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm, pointing towards a half-hidden stall in the corner of the hall. A man in a silk waistcoat and top hat plucked a coin from behind the ear of an astounded child.

“There’s a magician, Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed. “Maybe we should get a magician.”

“We already have a magician,” Geralt replied.

“No,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier swung to face Yennefer. “Yennefer, do you know any card tricks?”

“Isn’t that more the sort of thing a  _ bard  _ would know?” Yennefer asked flatly.

“Do I  _ look  _ like a cheap entertainer to you?” Jaskier asked pointedly, mouth hanging open.

“Hmm,” Yennefer replied.

Jaskier turned to Geralt, hands still wrapped around the unmoving Witcher’s elbow. “Does Triss know any card tricks?”

Geralt thought for a moment, and then nodded.


	21. In Which Geralt, Yennefer and Jaskier Are Unceremoniously Ejected From The Venue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By EnigmaticPangolin

Jaskier toppled - maybe accidentally - sideways on the bench on which he, Yennefer, and Geralt slumped surrounded by bags. The ones nearest them clinked a lot. Jaskier sighed with contentment. His head now rested in Geralt’s lap, and he swung his feet up so that his legs lay across Yennefer’s.

“I think this may have been the best idea I’ve ever had, don’t you -”

Yennefer shoved at Jaskier’s lower body and the bard slid entirely off the bench, though he remained leaning against Geralt’s legs.

A large bald man, sporting the logo of the wedding venue, high-visibility arm strips, and an earpiece, approached the trio.

“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?”

Geralt stood from the bench, realising his full height and width like a brooding, inflating balloon. The security guard, to his credit, did not flinch at being confronted by someone suddenly a head taller than him.

Yennefer snapped upright and looked down her nose at the guard, every inch of her radiating sorcerous power. 

“I think we’ll be the judge of that, thank you  _ very  _ much.” Two more security personnel drifted towards them. 

“I know you can judge for yourself, pal, but-”

“Listen,  _ pal _ , we have spent good money here and will continue to do so. We are having a rest and  _ we  _ will decide when we’ve had enough.”

Geralt moved to cover Yennefer’s back, and she surveyed the situation. Eight security staff around them now, with three more approaching. None of the eight seemed armed. Almost too easy. There might be some collateral damage; the bespectacled old lady in the dress stall was peeking out at them from around the flimsy drapery, eyes huge, but they could - 

Jaskier, who had managed to climb back into his lying position on the bench, let out a burp. It seemed endless, almost echoing, dropping into the silence like a boulder into a pond. The moment broke. Yennefer noticed one of the guards, a young ginger man, was shaking almost imperceptibly as he stared at her and Geralt. This was not a battle, it was a squabble in a conference centre, and beneath her.

“Very well.” Yennefer relaxed and gathered her bags, but still contrived to avoid the guiding hands from the several security guards around her, so that they fluttered behind her as she stalked to the exit. 

Geralt sighed and bent to heft Jaskier’s prone form over his shoulder, then froze as a wave dizziness and nausea rushed up at him. Jaskier opened his eyes to see Geralt leaning over him, his face fixed and intense.

“Hello, fiancé...” Jaskier lifted one arm to drape it around Geralt’s neck. 

“Hm.”

Geralt straightened, pulling Jaskier up with him, and the pair staggered out, laden with purchases and surrounded by security guards.


	22. In Which The Gang Is Reunited In The Car Park, By Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By SeaOfBones

Yennefer squinted out across the car park, the garment bag containing the long, blood-faded dress draped across both arms. Geralt and Jaskier staggered along beside her, arms around each other’s shoulders. It wasn’t clear who was holding who up. She had considered sneaking back in, but she supposed they’d ended up spending more than they’d gotten in free goods. She had gotten thirty ducats worth of entertainment, at least.

“Wasn’t Ciri meeting us here?” Yennefer asked.

Through his inebriation, Geralt’s golden eyes lit up. Alert. One hand tightening around Jaskier’s shoulder, the other around the grotesque gnome bride and groom he was carrying under his other arm, hunter’s vision surveying the car park.

“People linked by destiny will always find each other,” Geralt murmured solemnly.

“Oh, there she is,” Jaskier noted, pointing just past the bus stop with his half of the Mr & Mr shot glass set, half-filled with one last sample for the road. Ciri was sitting at the bus stop, Roach’s reins wrapped around her wrist as she sipped a thick, cream-coloured liquid through a pink straw, black pearls pooling at the bottom of the clear cup.

Ciri looked up as they came closer, frosted eyes examining not only Geralt but the various matrimonial accoutrements the three of them were laden with.

“Did you have fun, then?” she asked, the straw still grazing her lips.

Jaskier watched Geralt, cautiously, hopefulness hidden behind another swig of his drink.

Geralt’s eyes roamed from Yennefer, to Jaskier, to the satchel still containing two and a half bottles of candy liqueur, and gave the bard something close to a smile.

“Actually,” he said. “It wasn’t bad.”

Yennefer stepped closer to Ciri, nodding towards her bag.

“Oh,  _ not bad _ ?” Jaskier teased. “Everything we’ve been through, and all you can say is  _ not bad _ ?”

Ciri drew a crumpled cupcake from Yennefer’s bag, decorated with pale blue flowers and the smudged initials of Triss Merigold.

“It’s quite literally the least I could do,” Yennefer sniffed. Ciri took the cake with a solemness that would rival Geralt’s, barely masking her clear delight.

“Thank you, Yennefer,” she said. She idly peeled the paper from the sides of the cake, and lifted her voice to reach Geralt. “Did you get anything for Roach?”

“ _ Did he get anything for Roach _ ?” Jaskier mimicked, gesturing towards himself with the cup. “Oh, he got far more for Roach than he did for his humble fiancé.”

“...His what?” Ciri said.

Jaskier and Geralt both froze, exchanging confused glances as they waited for the other to be the first to explain their way out of this. Yennefer sat on the bus stop bench, and retrieved another cake.


End file.
